


keep on moving, don't go running wild

by shyv2rxrxr (hexburn)



Series: Catching Fire, Catching Cold | LEC Hanahaki [6]
Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cat, Forget Me Not, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, TW: Blood, TW: coughing, TW: hanahaki, TW: near-death, but no one dies i promise!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 00:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20461991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexburn/pseuds/shyv2rxrxr
Summary: Hanahaki.What else is there to be said? People across Berlin are catching it.Good memories, true love,promise the petals in Martin's lungs.Of course he has it for Mads.





	keep on moving, don't go running wild

_If the moonlight comes to steal your smile_

_Call me up when your high's gone low_

** _Keep on moving, don't go running_ _ wild_ **

_Catching Fire like you're Catching Cold_

The first time he even thinks about anything being wrong, Martin is in his bed, curled up around his beautiful kitten, Misa, who is purring and nuzzling into his lap. Martin’s not thinking about much in particular, just about how his teammates might react if he brought Misa to the office for a day, about how Tim would coo and pamper his adorable kitten princess, and how Hyli and Bwipo would probably pet her a few times throughout the day. He thinks about how Mads would love Misa so much, even though he’s not really a cat-person, and while he pictures Mads grinning and laughing and scritching Misa’s ears just right to make her purr contentedly, he feels something odd.

An itch in his throat.

That’s weird. He’s been living with Misa for a few weeks already, so there’s no way it’s allergies to her fur, and he’s also fairly certain it’s not sickness - he hasn’t had a cold in a while, it’s not flu season, and he’s been careful to take care of himself.

Regardless, the itch in his throat turns into a scratchy pain like Misa’s little claws are stabbing into his trachea, and, though he tries to muffle his coughs, Misa seems to sense something wrong. She leaps off his lap right as he bursts into a coughing fit.

Something warm and wet hits the back of his throat. He runs to the bathroom to spit it out and gazes down in horror at what comes up.

“Misa, down!” he says firmly, pushing her back onto all fours on the tile when she tries to hop up onto the countertop, drawn close out of concern for her human.

Martin doesn’t want her snow-white paws stained by the bloody petals in the sink.

\---

The next day, when he’s feeling calmer and less freaked-out by the fact that he coughed up petals and blood, sure signs of hanahaki, the terrible disease that’s been making its rounds through Berlin, he looks up the petals that now collect in a bloodstained rubbish bin he keeps in an easy-to-access area at all times. They’re tiny and blue, five petals surrounding a little yellow ring, and most flowers come in pairs or trios, all attached at the stem like clusters. Upon a quick image search, he finds them.

_ Forget-me-nots. Förgätmigej. Affection, loyalty, good memories… true love. _

Martin spins one of the small, bloody, beautiful blue flowers between his fingers before feeding Misa and heading to the office. He didn’t get any sleep at all last night, but it shouldn’t matter.

\---

Over the next few days, he puts so much research into hanahaki that he becomes almost a walking encyclopedia of how hanahaki affects the body and what to do if you have it, and even when Bwipo only mentions off-hand that his girlfriend has hanahaki complications, Martin knows exactly what’s wrong. His teammates look at him, bewildered, as he easily diagnoses the problem.

“Been doing some reading, Martin?” Hyli asks curiously. Tim just stares at him blank-faced, so Martin tries to focus on mimicking Tim’s expression as he answers.

“It’s all over the news,” he says, a lame excuse but one that Hyli lets slide.

Mads doesn’t. “Do you know someone with hanahaki?” he asks, face happy in that plainly content way that Mads is always happy, kind, not shy in showing his affection, so calm and quiet yet clearly comfortable with where he is and confident in himself in a way that Martin admires, so, so much.

There’s no reason to, but Martin immediately lies. “My sister. She’s fine now. Her boyfriend is nice.” 

“Oh, I’m glad for them, then,” Mads says with a smile.

There’s an itch in Martin’s throat again and he doesn’t know why.

Despite his best efforts to once again muffle his coughs throughout the day, Martin ends up hacking so badly that even Tim, who is usually unfazed no matter what happens in a scrim, turns to him in concern. “Martin, are you sure you’re okay?” _ Shit. _ Martin swallows painfully around a clump of petals and stems and chokes out a garbled answer.

“Fine,” he says. Karma takes a few steps on the screen again, and the scrims for the day continue with no more obstructions than Martin dashing to the bathroom between games to spit out the blood-coated ones in his throat.

\---

When he gets home that night, back to his flat with his adorable, perfect kitten, he buries his face in her fur, holding Misa to his chest and kissing her gently, trying to erase all the pain of the day and the tiny cuts in the lining of his throat by focusing all his attention on her little body in his arms. Unfortunately, as the events of the day drift through his head and get caught on a good memory of Mads laughing during scrims, Martin feels his chest heaving.

Misa follows him as he runs to the bathroom, coughing up clump after clump of petals and full flowers and bloody, unidentified tissue, and when his coughing fit is over and he begins to cry at the futility of it all, at the decision he must make despite not knowing what to do or how, at the way Mads makes him feel so light and airy and awful and pained all at once, when everything falls to the lowest it can go, Misa brings him one of her toys. 

It’s a little thing, a tiny mouse with a string attached, barely the size of one of her paws. But she nudges it into his hand like it’s the most important thing in the world, and, for a few moments, it is. It pulls him out of the slump he’s in, it gets him to stop crying, it makes him lift his head up and pet her with tear-stained hands, dampening her fur with salt.

And then a haunting dream of Mads there with him, Mads with Misa, Mads giggling, so many sweet memories that haven’t happened yet, infiltrate his mind, and he knocks the toy out of the way as he throws up more flowers. 

The cycle repeats, over and over.

By the time he falls asleep on the cold bathroom tile, all of Misa’s many toys are piled up next to the sink, a macabre sacrifice to whatever malevolent god is making Martin suffer, and she has nothing left to bring him. His head is resting on one of his arms, his neck at an angle that she instinctively knows is not comfortable for humans, and his body shivers against the floor, yet he doesn’t have enough energy right now to pick himself up. 

Misa claws down a towel from the towel rack to keep him at least partially insulated, putting her feline wiles to benevolent use. Then, she curls up under Martin’s head, wedging herself between his jaw and his shoulder. 

By no means is she comfortable like this. His head is heavy, and its weight rests squarely on her little body; she can tell that if his head were just one inch higher on her chest, he’d suffocate her, and purring to soothe him is difficult with her throat in this cramped position. But even though she’s only been with him for a scant few weeks, she’s loyal. Her human deserves nothing but the best, and she’s determined - or at least as determined as she can be - to give that to him.

\---

Misa wakes up bright and early the next morning. To her relief, her human stays asleep while she worms her way out from behind his head and pads through the house. He should be okay while she stretches her legs, twitching her ears and loyally keeping a part of her attention focused on listening for any immediate danger to her human.

Maybe it’s a little bit more than one part, because the knocking on the door startles her much more than it should, and she runs quickly to see who it is. She runs faster when she hears the lock being undone.

\---

“Hello, kitty,” Mads cooes as he steps into Martin’s flat, crouching down to scratch behind… Macie? Mousie? Misa! Behind Misa’s cute little ears. She shies away from him at first, but he sits on the floor with his back against the door and lets her investigate this new person. 

Mads can’t imagine she meets a whole lot of people, so he’ll give her as much time as she needs to warm up to him, though, like most animals, she seems to take to him quickly, rubbing her face against his broad palms, showing the affection small animals have for gentle giants, and dancing just out of reach when he goes to pet her. Gently, Mads stretches out his hand, but she only nudges it. Then she pads lightly, tail waving in the air, over to a hallway, looking back occasionally like she expects him to follow her.

Obligingly, he stands up. After all, he’s here to check on Martin anyway, and, based on the way there’s no coffee in the coffeepot or fresh plates on the countertop, Martin’s probably in bed. 

Every other time Mads has been here, keeping Martin company when he’s caught in a downturn and keeping in touch with Martin no matter what, Martin’s been up almost as early as Mads himself. His extra sleep isn't necessarily something to worry about, but Mads cares for Martin quite a bit, and even the slightest dip in Martin’s mood makes Mads sad. He wants nothing more than to see Martin smiling always, so he follows Misa to Martin’s bedroom door, opening it kindly for the small cat who would otherwise be locked out.

Misa flattens her ears at him and keeps walking.

Confused, Mads tries to scoop her up and bring her into the bedroom where surely Martin is waiting, but she yowls and hisses, so he drops her and watches as she slinks behind him, pushing him forward with her forehead. “Okay, okay, Misa,” Mads croons, letting her direct him towards the bathroom. Maybe her litter box needs changing? Perhaps she’s dropped a toy somewhere she can’t reach it?

He’s not sure what to expect, but Martin’s body on the bathroom floor stuns him.

\---

Slowly, Martin comes to consciousness, suddenly feeling warm rather than cold against the white tiles, and he almost instinctively leans into the source of the heat before he’s even awake enough to think about what it might be. His eyes snap open to cries of “Martin? Martin, wake up! Oh, no, he’s bleeding from his mouth…”

_ Mads? _

And the jungler is there, cradling Martin’s body against his, looking into Martin’s eyes with deep blue pools of concern and caregiving. “Are you okay? You scared me,” Mads says softly, chuckling in his relief.

A surge of affection for Mads crashes through Martin’s body. He can feel the petals working their way up through his lungs already.

“Fine, fine,” Martin garbles out through a mouthful of stale blood, “Give me a moment?” When Mads simply sits more stably and rubs Martin’s back, Martin clarifies further, with the last bit of breath he has. “Alone.”

Though Mads’s already-worried eyes darken with more anxiety about the welfare of his precious ADC, Mads does move to stand up. 

It’s too late. Martin is already heaving and retching clumps of forget-me-nots into the toilet bowl.

He tries his best to conceal them, to curl his body around the evidence in a way that would keep Mads from seeing how the pretty petals let their coating of blood diffuse into the water, turning it all a soft pink that would be a rather nice shade were it not associated with so much pain, but Mads’s caring nature means that Martin is scooped into Mads’s lap before he even knows it, coughing in plain sight of the jungler. 

“Oh, gosh, Martin,” Mads breathes out, pained by Martin’s pain. Martin is retching violently at every one of Mads’s tender touches, his body shaking and trying to expel the forget-me-nots that seem to constantly clog his throat, gagging on clump after clump of red-stained blue flowers that let their blood wash away in the water that deepens in shade by the second. He clings and scrabbles at the smooth marble for purchase, anything to hold onto in his throes. The only solid object he finds is Mads’s hands on his and a warm arm wrapped around his back, which serves to just make his shivering even more tremulous. “Breathe, Martin, breathe,” Mads says soothingly, rubbing Martin’s back and holding him gently while grabbing as many towels as he can to keep Martin warm. They’re wrapped tight around Martin’s now-frail body as he shakes both from the bone-chilling cold of the tiles and the physical exertion of expelling what seems like an impossible number of flower petals.

Martin can barely take a breath between the flowers pouring from his mouth. Only once he’s seemingly coughed every last bloom up does he take a deep, shuddering breath, and even this gasp is cut short by Martin suddenly breaking into sobs as he spits out the last traces of blood in his mouth. Mads, perfect, sweet, kind, loving, caring Mads, grabs a tissue and carefully wipes Martin’s lips clean with a soft caress. It only serves to make Martin cry even harder as Mads’s gentle hands soothe him and take care of him.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay,” Mads says with a soft, comforting baritone that Martin can feel humming in his chest, “deep breaths, you’re okay. You’re okay.” 

With rattling lungs, Martin obeys, clenching Mads’s hands until his knuckles turn white.

“You’re okay,” Mads repeats, hushing Martin’s apologies, quieting each one with a peace-bringing murmur and a circle massaged into Martin’s shoulders. 

When Martin’s emotions have turned from fearing for his life to panicking because he’s in Mads’s lap and arms, Mads rubs his back more and strokes his hair calmingly, letting Martin catch his breath before trying to continue. 

“Hanahaki, right?” asks Mads softly, hugging Martin tight.

_ Yes, my love, _ Martin thinks but does not say. “Yeah.”

“Who is it for?”

Martin clings to Mads and buries his face in Mads’s chest like he’s trying to hide. 

“I- I can’t tell you.” _ I’m in love with you. _

He can’t say it.

But Mads, though there is hope on his face, does not react poorly to Martin’s refusal to confess. Instead, he just sighs deeply, deeply enough that Martin noticeably moves with his breath, and smiles sadly down at the ADC who is curled up into a ball in his arms. “Okay.” 

It doesn’t make him happy, that Martin won’t tell him, but it’s something that Mads can respect. He gently murmurs for Martin to stand up quickly, if he won’t be woozy when he does, and then Mads scoops him up easily and carries him to the bedroom, where Mads lays him down, tosses the towels aside, and tucks him in on his side to ensure that he won’t asphyxiate if more blood fills his throat, watching as Misa hops up and curls into Martin’s chest. Martin seems to have fallen asleep already, so Mads gives Misa a few pets and combs his fingers through Martin’s hair as well. He can’t imagine Martin got much sleep on the bathroom floor, and Martin seems exhausted after dealing with such severe hanahaki ramifications; while Martin naps, Mads sends a quick update to Joey about the situation - _ Martin is rather sick, he should stay home today and I’d like to take the day off to take care of him, if that’s okay _ \- and scavenges Martin’s flat for soup ingredients.

\---

“Martin,” a deep voice croons, “wake up, please.”

Wincing, Martin thinks it must just be a dream, because there’s no logical way that Mads actually would have checked on Martin, that would be- that would be too nice of Mads, he’s busy and doesn’t have the time or reason to pop up out of nowhere just because Martin hasn’t looked so hot lately. Sure, Mads has a key to Martin’s flat, but the chances of it being used are rather low.

And then Martin realises that he’s in his warm bed, not cold on the bathroom floor, with Misa snuggling up to him and someone’s hand gently rubbing his shoulder. He breathes deeply and opens his eyes.

_ It’s Mads. _

_ Fuck. _

Misa leaps off of his chest preemptively, just seconds before Martin tugs the wastebin over to his bedside in a panic, then begins to cough violently, heaving up fresh, young forget-me-nots that had grown as he slept alongside drops of blood into the bin. He can tell by an odd clanking that Mads sets something down on his bedside table before scrambling to hold Martin up, rubbing and patting his back. 

Even though Martin knows he shouldn’t, he clings to Mads like a lifeline.

When Martin’s coughing fit finally subsides, he wants nothing more than to slump over onto his bed and sleep until it all goes away, so he leans back, ready to slip under the sheets. Before he gets there, Mads stops him with a hand cupping his cheek.

“Y-you have blood on your mouth,” Mads says after a brief stuttering pause where they just look into each other’s eyes. A soft tissue swipes over Martin’s lips, drying them. With a sigh of exhaustion, Martin falls back against the pillows, his linens no longer in danger of becoming bloodstained. He wants to cry when he sees Mads watching him. Something in him is hopeful. The rest is sorrowful for what he’s sure he will lose.

“Thank you,” Martin says with another sigh.

“No problem,” Mads says plainly, like Martin was a fool to think that Mads would ever _ not _ be there for him. “I made soup,” he murmurs, waiting for Martin to sit up and helping him when Martin embarrassingly struggles, then putting pillows behind Martin’s back to support him and giving him a wide mug filled with steaming chicken soup. “Make sure to eat the chicken, you need more iron after losing that much blood.”

“Thank you,” says Martin again, this time choked-up with tears that he doesn’t even bother trying to stop. They roll down his cheeks silently, like nothing more than rain. He pulls his legs to the side to make a space for Mads to sit on the bed as Mads watches Martin eat, slowly at first but then with a voracious hunger. “Um, what time is it?”

Mads checks his phone. “16,37.”

_ Shit. _

“We have scrims, we have to go!” Martin tries to get up quickly, startling Misa at his side, only to be pushed gently back down onto the bed by Mads.

“I already told Joey you were sick,” Mads soothes, “finish your soup and then get some more sleep, you look awful. I- I mean,” Mads stutters, “not awful, you never look awful, just- I can tell you haven’t slept well in a while.”

“O-oh,” Martin blushes. If there were any petals left in his lungs, he’d be spasming on the bed, throwing them up, but as it is, he just coughs hard and smiles at Mads. “T-thanks.” 

He hides his shy grin in his mug of soup, but by the way Mads smiles at him and rubs his knee fondly, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you feeling better?” asks Mads cautiously.

Martin tips his head from side to side as he thinks, and Misa, sensing that things should be calm for a while, hops into his lap, crawling up him until she’s nestled between his arms, her body laid out atop Martin’s stomach. Both he and Mads smile at her. “Yeah,” he says at last, “better.”

“Do you need me to take you to the hospital? Your cough seems like it’s getting really bad. Hanahaki can get really serious, really fast.” Mads concernedly looks into Martin’s eyes, and Martin can almost feel himself falling asleep just from being soothed by that gaze.

“No,” he murmurs, “no, I- I’m fine.” He’d rather not go to a doctor and be pushed towards a surgery he doesn’t want to remove the pearl-like seed in his lungs.

“Martin…” 

“It’s fine.”

“Martin, you know you could die.”

The Swede sighs. “Yeah.”

“No one is worth that. No one is worth dying for, not when you have so much ahead of you, you can’t waste your life like that,” Mads insists. Maybe it’s a bit selfish of him, but he doesn’t want Martin to die for whomever he has hanahaki for; he wants to keep Martin with him, even if it’s just as friends for as long as they live.

But Martin just sighs again with a rattlier breath than before. “I mean, I can think of one person who’s worth,” he chuckles darkly, smiling at Mads with sad eyes.

Mads freezes. “No.”

“You’d be worth it,” Martin says.

“No. No one is worth dying for,” Mads says firmly. “Besides, it’s not for me. It’s not, is it?”

Martin’s silence speaks louder than a shout.

Mads can’t believe it.

“It’s not for me,” Mads repeats, “it- it can’t be. It has to be someone else.”

Martin just smiles sadly and shakes his head. If this is how he goes, rejected by the only one he’s ever truly loved, the one with whom he shares so many good memories, one of the very few who has remained utterly loyal no matter how hard times got, well… 

Forget-me-not, he hopes. 

With a pained hiss, Mads shivers as though trying to dispel the thought. “Have you- have you talked to whomever it is? At least talk to them.”

Softly, Martin sighs once more and begins to cry against his will. He’s already losing fluids, he can’t afford to cry and deal with the pain of a headache in addition to the ache in his chest, but he can’t stop himself. “I have,” he answers.

“When? Did they accept you? They’d be a fool to not accept you,” Mads rambles, “you’re worthy of everything; it’s not worth dying for someone who’s too dumb to realise what they have.”

It’s almost funny, Mads’s refusal. Martin would be laughing were his life not on the line.

“I have, about a minute ago,” Martin cries, the rattling in his lungs worsening. Maybe he’s dying. “They… they didn’t believe me. I don’t know what to do. Maybe I’ll die,” he croaks through his tears.

“Don’t joke about this, Martin!” Mads grabs his shoulders roughly, then, as though he’s just realised his strength when Martin begins to cough again and Misa scrambles onto the more-stable bed, he sets Martin back against the pillows lightly, like Martin is the most precious jewel in the world. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s… it’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

They sit in silence for some time. Not even Misa disturbs the heavy weight of the quiet in the room.

“You should finish your soup.”

Obediently, Martin blinks away the last of his silent tears and resumes eating, letting the soft clink of silverware against porcelain fill the room while Mads stares at the wall, seemingly deep in thought. His hand is on the bed, within reach of Martin’s. For a moment, Martin entertains the thought of reaching down and taking Mads’s hand into his, dreaming that by a simple touch all this would be resolved, that they’d be deeply in love with each other and perfect boyfriends and wouldn’t ever struggle with anything again.

He doesn’t do it. Mads looks too solemn.

When Martin finishes his soup, swallowing down the last bite of chicken, he looks at Mads again, not for any reason but just to memorise the sight. If he must die for his love for Mads, he thinks that this might be a nice way to go. In a warm bed, cared for by the one he loves, even if that love isn’t returned. With Mads sitting beside him, looking so sad but still somehow so good, so capable and powerful and gentle. Next to Misa, purring calmly on his thigh. He’s comfortable like this.

Not happy, but comfortable.

“Thank you,” he rasps, then, clearing his throat, “thank you for taking care of me.”

Mads sighs like he’s trying to clear his lungs of air that has somehow been tainted with Martin’s words. Perhaps Martin was too hopeful to expect anything more. Then again, Mads reaches for him, if only to take the mug and set it carefully aside. 

Just when Martin is ready to fall asleep and let the disease do as it will, Mads takes Martin’s hands into his own. “Thank you for letting me,” Mads says softly, pulling Martin into a hug as gentle as his words and demeanour. Martin sighs happily into the hug, a sigh that rattles harshly against the walls of his ribcage but a sigh that is at peace nonetheless, and he hugs Mads tightly, more so when Mads speaks again. “I’ll always care for you.”

Martin is practically clinging to Mads, legs bent and holding Mads’s torso tight between his thighs and his chest.

“...I love you,” Mads whispers after a long time of them just holding each other close, Mads cradling Martin like a fragile and irreplaceable treasure, Martin plastering himself against Mads’s side like he’ll die if he lets go. The words make tears begin to run down Martin’s cheeks again, watering the shoulder of Mads’s shirt until it blooms with salt-stained patterns. “I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.”

Slowly, through gasps, as his throat seems to close up, Martin wheezes back, “I love you too,” and then shivers in horror as he starts to retch again, this time worse than any before. He holds his hand over his mouth, feeling something smooth and oblong come up through his throat as he loses the ability to breathe. Panic overcomes him. He can’t breathe. 

Desperately, he pulls away from Mads’s embrace and Mads holds Martin carefully in front of him. He can’t breathe. 

Martin puts his other hand at the base of his throat and tries to work his neck to cough up the obstruction. He can’t breathe. 

He can feel bloody spittle hitting his hand, Mads rushing to lay a towel over wherever blood might hit the sheets, a hand patting his back to encourage him to heave what he knows is the hanahaki’s pearl out of his lungs. He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe.

After much too long without air, Martin’s efforts succeed. An elliptical spheroid the size of his thumbnail falls out of his mouth and into his hand, bloodied pink but clearly pearlescent in colour, and he breathes a sigh of relief, the first smooth breath he’s had in weeks.

Unfortunately, the lightheadedness overwhelms him, and the last thing he remembers is falling into Mads’s arms.

\---

He regains consciousness to the sound of Misa’s paws tapping along his bedroom floor. He wakes up to the feeling of her leaping up onto his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to jerk upright in bed.

“Misaaa,” Martin whines, but he scratches behind her ears anyway. She looks rather content, surprising for this early in the morning, especially considering he probably hasn’t fed her for a while.

He checks the date.

_ Shit. _

He hasn’t fed his poor baby in two days.

Quickly, Martin tries to stand up, only to fall back onto the bed as he feels a rush of blood away from his head that makes him woozy. He tries again, this time much slower, and finds that he can manage to walk if he leans against the wall, so he makes his way to the kitchen bit by bit, step by step, until he’s standing in the doorway and watching Mads cook breakfast.

Martin hadn’t thought Mads would stick around.

“Morning,” he giggles in a rasp, not even thinking about the fact that he probably looks awful, clutching at the wall just to stay upright.

“Martin? Oh, what are you doing out of bed?!” Mads exclaims, dropping everything to pick Martin up and carry him bridal-style to the sofa. Martin giggles weakly, clinging to Mads’s neck as Mads lowers him gently until he’s laying down and the bloodflow balances out so he feels a little more normal. “Are you okay? You probably need time to recover. You should have stayed in bed, I can take care of everything. Do you feel alright? Are-”

“I’m fine, love,” Martin says with a bright smile, arms still slung around Mads as the jungler kneels by Martin’s side. “A little tired, a little lightheaded, but fine.”

“Good,” says Mads, breathing a sigh of relief. He pets Martin’s head lightly. “I’m making breakfast, it’ll be done in a bit. And I already called us in sick at the office.”

“Did you feed Misa?”

“Yep, she actually woke me up this morning with her meowing. I guess she was really hungry.” Mads blushes red when he notices how Martin looks at him with pure adoration. “What? I-is there something on my face?”

“No,” Martin grins. “Thank you.”

Softly, Mads’s expression shifts into a smile as well. “Anything for you.” Gently, gingerly, as though Martin might disappear at any given moment, Mads leans in and kisses Martin’s forehead lightly. “I’ll bring us plates, if you don’t mind eating on the sofa? I think it’ll be better for you.”

“That sounds perfect,” Martin says through a pretty pink blush. He pets Misa as he waits for Mads to return.

Eating is a quiet affair but one that is much enjoyed by both of them, as Martin leans on Mads for support and Mads pushes some of his own food onto Martin’s plate when the ADC devours his serving as though he’s been starved. Misa lays across both of their laps, purring happily, soothed by the overall atmosphere created by Martin and Mads’s newfound love. When they’ve finished eating, Mads strokes Misa’s ears, then takes Martin’s plate.

“Where are you going?” Martin asks, still sounding so happy. If this is what a honeymoon high is, he never wants to come down.

“I’m going to wash the dishes, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” says Mads reassuringly, kissing the top of Martin’s head again.

“Take me with you?” asks Martin. He nudges Misa off his lap and reaches up hopefully with grabby hands. Mads almost looks like he’s going to protest. Then he sees Martin’s cute display, and gives in, wrapping an arm around Martin’s waist to help him stand more steadily and walk back to the sink. Martin offers to dry the dishes, but Mads denies him, noticing that Martin is having a hard enough time simply standing up, and instead Martin simply enjoys Mads’s warmth, tracing small circles over Mads’s back and resting his head on Mads’s shoulder. 

In the meantime, Martin looks around, taking in the sights drowsily, and his eyes come to rest on a pearl in a glass on the counter. “Oh, is that the hanahaki pearl?” Martin asks, voice still rusty.

“Yes,” Mads says, “I washed it off. It’s pretty.”

“Some people turn their hanahaki pearl into a necklace,” Martin says, thinking aloud. “Maybe one like a cage, with the pearl inside.”

“That sounds poetic,” Mads replies, scrubbing off a plate.

After a moment of thought, Martin decides to ask. “If I got a necklace like that… would you wear it?”

Mads turns to him in surprise. “It’s your pearl. You don’t have to give it to me; those are extremely personal. It’s kind of like… It’s kind of like your heart. You should keep it,” Mads says, looking at him as though to ask if he’s certain he wants to give the pearl away.

“I want to give it to you, though,” Martin says, clarifying, “I think it would be fitting - no, it would be perfect for you to have it, if- if you think of it like m-my heart.” He’s blushing red, now, unable to meet Mads’s eyes, but he leans against Mads’s side, craving more contact.

Martin’s sentiment seems to catch Mads off-guard. “You’re perfect,” says Mads at last, drying his hands and turning to Martin, who has hugged him again, wrapping shaky arms as tightly as possible around him.

Martin feels well and truly blessed. Here he stands, weak, only human, and yet the love of his life, an angel on earth, kind and good and strong, has accepted him with loving, protective arms. “Thank you,” he whispers into the crook of Mads’s neck.

Again Mads responds with a quiet, “anything for you,” and this time he adds a stuttery, “my love,” to the end of it that has Martin laughing with pure joy. 

He looks down when he feels a soft tail brush against his ankles, and watches Misa twine between their legs, marking her owner and her owner’s boyfriend as united under her watch, giving her feline blessing to the relationship with a purr and a contented meow. 

Mads giggles. “I think she likes me a lot.”

“Well, they say pets take after their owners, so I guess that’s why,” Martin says softly, looking up through shy lashes.

Unable to resist Mads’s beautiful smile, Martin kisses him square on the lips, and the feeling of a firmly muscular body pressed tight against his and strong hands rubbing circles into his hips is better than anything in the world.

It warms his heart like nothing else, warms his soul and every last part of him. Though the future is always uncertain, Martin finds that the disease that tried to kill him was, in one way, completely right.

_ True love, indeed. _


End file.
